


Camellia Says

by plingo_kat



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Bondage, Dom/sub, M/M, Privilege, Rough Sex, Spanking, the boys being clueless, the boys being dicks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-11
Updated: 2011-10-11
Packaged: 2017-10-24 12:29:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/263474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plingo_kat/pseuds/plingo_kat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Charles likes it best when he is alone, when he doesn’t have to keep up a façade for polite society and can just be <em>himself.</em> So many people believe in the stereotypes: that subs are quiet and polite and should keep their heads down and do as their doms tell them, or that (and this really makes him angry) any dom can order subs about, like sexual preferences define the whole of a person and not just what they like in the bedroom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Camellia Says

Sometimes Charles likes it best when he is alone, when he doesn’t have to keep up a façade for polite society and can just be _himself._ So many people believe in the stereotypes: that subs are quiet and polite and should keep their heads down and do as their doms tell them, or that (and this really makes him angry) any dom can order subs about, like sexual preferences define the whole of a person and not just what they like in the bedroom.

It’s why Charles became a teacher, and then a dean, and it’s why he’s currently fighting tooth and nail to be able to change the curriculum at the University. Young adults, he thinks, can certainly do with a bit more education about what is deemed “deviant” by mainstream society, to hone their awareness and to mould them to be better people down the road. God knows they’ll need it, with the Registry and current political views swinging once more into the conservative. Soon there’ll be laws instituting mandatory formal collaring, and then where will they be?

Charles sighs and deletes the last line of his email written in anger. That isn’t fair, he knows. They’ve come a long way since the dark years, when uncollared subs were free game and doms regularly got into fistfights on the street, or when switches were totally reviled and sometimes even imprisoned. He can write entire papers about what has changed, and what has not, and what _needs_ to change about the portrayal of the dom/sub relationship. He has, actually.

The shrill ring of his phone makes him jump.

“Xavier,” Charles says. “How may I help you?”

“Mr. Xavier,” says Hank. Charles frowns. He’s told Hank a million times to call him Charles, but…

“Er, Mr. Lensherr is here to see you. Do you want me…?”

“Yes, show him in, please.” Charles stands. Erik almost never visits him at the office, at least not during normal school operating hours. The other man is perpetually busy. This must be important.

The heavy oak doors open much more quickly than they normally do. They are pretty much incapable of being slammed, but Erik makes a good try of it. Charles narrows his eyes.

“Leave us,” Erik says, command heavy in his voice. Hank, hovering in the doorway, wavers and flees gratefully when Charles nods his assent. Charles sits himself comfortably on the edge of his desk.

“What brings you here?” he asks mildly. Erik feels angry and afraid, practically radiating tension. He steps closer to loom over Charles.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” he says, low and intense. It’s almost a threat, but not quite. It makes Charles shiver and his pupils dilate

“What am I doing?”

“This!” Erik shoves a newspaper in front of his nose, and Charles has to lean back to read it. The headline on the second page questions, “IS XAVIER CORRUPTING AMERICA’S YOUTH?”

“That horrible title got past the editors?” he says without quite thinking it through. Erik grits his teeth so hard Charles can nearly feel it, tension all along his neck.

“Charles,” Erik hisses. He steps back and takes a deep breath, obviously trying to calm down. “Stand,” he says, and Charles does. Erik’s eyes go a little bit hooded. “Good.”

Charles lifts his chin.

“Don’t move, and listen to me.” Erik paces around him, back and forth. Charles follows him with his eyes. “You will stop with this nonsense. You _have_ to. They’re questioning your legitimacy, which was already in doubt—“

“Why?” Charles cuts in, quiet and savage. “Because I’m a sub? I’ve dealt with that before, from worse things than _that_.” He gestures dismissively at the newspaper.

“And,” Erik continues, “mine.”

There is a pause.

“Yours,” Charles says, slowly. “They believe—you see, _this_ is why I’m instituting the changes in the first place, this _ridiculous_ prejudice that, that one person has control over the other—“

“Charles.” Erik doesn’t shout, doesn’t raise his voice, but the word shivers down Charles’ spine and clicks his mouth shut. He hates Erik a little for that, can’t help it, but loves him for it as well. Nobody else can make him feel the way Erik does.

When a broad hand cups his chin, fingers stroking along the jut of cheekbone and jaw, he turns his face up instinctively into the touch.

“I just want you to be safe,” Erik rumbles. With how close they are standing, Charles can feel the vibrations in his chest.

 _I want you to be mine,_ Erik’s eyes are saying.

“Come home with me.” Charles nearly agrees on autopilot, still caught up in the feeling of skin on skin and how strong, how sure Erik’s touch is.

“I—“ he says, casting a look back at his desk, full of papers to sign and notices to be addressed. “Yes.”

 

 

Charles has been collared before. He doesn’t like to talk about it.

 

 

“Mr. Xavier—“ Hank starts when Charles emerges, but trails off when Erik glares at him. Charles touches Erik on the arm; Hank doesn’t deserve such treatment, not from a dom he doesn’t have any relationship with.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Charles promises. “Field my calls, will you?”

“Of course, sir,” Hank says, and then they are out in the sunlight, a black Lexus parked right by the curb. He follows Erik in, a proper half-step behind, and buckles the seatbelt as soon as his trousers hit the leather seats. Erik, of course, does no such thing.

“We’re going to my apartment,” Erik tells him. It isn’t up for debate.

That suits Charles just fine. He nods his assent and closes his eyes, relaxing back into the pleasant rocking motion of the car.

He jerks awake when they roll to a stop. Erik’s apartment doesn’t look like much from the outside, plain white walls and a metal-grilled fence, balconies on the second floor, but inside it’s sleek and modern, all utilitarian lines and metal and the illusion of vast, empty space. Everything is in shades of grey and white, with copper undertones hidden here and there. Charles always feels a little bit out of place in his wool sweaters and tweed jackets.

This time, though, his eye is drawn to a bright splash of color, a riot of orange and red and purple and yellow in a porcelain vase on the steel counter. It almost looks unreal.

“What—“ Charles starts to say, brow furrowed, but Erik snaps a “Silent,” and Charles closes his mouth obediently.

His heart begins to beat faster.

Erik walks over to the sink and fetches a glass of water, draining it nearly to the bottom. Charles stares at the way his throat works.

“Would you like some?”

A nod.

“Come.”

Erik tips the cup to his lips and Charles drinks slowly, hyperaware of the way the rim is resting against his teeth and of Erik’s fingers curled around the glass, the heat of him along Charles’ side. He follows as Erik pulls away, managing a brief brush of lips against knuckles, and Erik makes a low sound and crowds him against the counter. The glass is set down with a crack.

“Kneel,” Erik rasps, and Charles sags even as he looks over to the door to the bedroom. The floor is cold and hard and his knees start to ache almost immediately, but Erik is tangling a hand in his hair and pulling his head back to expose his throat, and Erik’s belt buckle is undoing itself, so Charles whines and tries to lean forward. He wants to feel heat against his face, rub his skin raw against cotton, take in the thick musky scent of Erik and sex.

Erik chuckles a little, more breath than sound. “Good boy,” he says, voice low. Charles moans at the praise.

He doesn’t wait for Erik to pull his underwear down, just goes and mouths his cock through his underwear, lips slow and dragging. It tastes like detergent and soap and he licks until the material is clinging, soaked with his saliva, and Erik is fully hard. Charles finds the head of Erik’s cock and tongues it, then sucks with enough force to hollow his cheeks, and Erik makes a harsh noise and curls forward.

“More,” he orders, hand tightening in his hair before letting go to trace over the curve of an ear and along the line of his jaw. “Suck me off.”

Charles groans and tugs down the grey cotton of Erik’s boxer-briefs, letting them cling to muscular thighs before gravity pulls them down around Erik’s ankles. Erik’s cock catches against his upper lip as it springs free, and then skids across his cheek; he grasps the base with a hand to steady it and then wraps his mouth around the head, licking and swallowing him down.

Erik makes a garbled sound and his hips thrust once before stilling, fingers gentling along Charles’ cheek in apology. Charles doesn’t need it; he grips Erik’s hip and pulls to take him in deep.

“I’m going to fuck your mouth,” Erik says, and Charles swallows around him before pulling back enough to nod eagerly, jaw relaxed and waiting.

“God.” Erik stares down with dark eyes, at the head of his cock resting on Charles’ lower lip, before moving his hips to slide _in_. “You look—beautiful, obscene, just, just like that, good…”

He goes silent then, in body if not in mind, the only physical sounds the wet slide of Charles’ lips, his low moans, Erik’s harsh and panting breaths. “I—“ he gasps, hand clenching in Charles’ hair, and comes in three long bursts with a quiet grunt.

Charles swallows, and breathes, and swallows, but he can’t catch it all and a bit of come flecks down his chin. It’s only now that he feels the ache in his knees and the tightness of his pants along his erection, pressure enough to be painful.

“Up,” Erik rasps, and runs a clumsy hand down the side of Charles’ face. “Let me see you.”

When Charles tries to stand his right leg doesn’t respond; it’s gone to sleep, and the movement sends painful tingles all the way down to his toes.

 _I can’t,_ he projects miserably. “Sorry.”

“Oh, Charles,” Erik sighs. He kneels down beside him and places a palm on the bulge in his trousers, and Charles can’t stifle a gasp. “My Charles,” he murmurs.

They wait until Charles’ leg is functional again before relocating to the bedroom. Charles can barely walk, each movement chafing even with his legs spread wide, but Erik hasn’t give him permission to shed his clothing or to touch himself so he holds his hands rigidly by his sides and steps with care. Erik strips off his shirt as soon as they are past the door, muscles defined in his arms and chest, sparse trail of hair starting high on his chest and trailing down past his navel. Charles itches to trace newly revealed skin with his hands, with his tongue.

He closes his eyes, breathes deeply, and waits.

His belt buckle is nearly open before he feels anything, the movement of metal silent and autonomous, easing the pressure on his crotch. He stifles a whimper as Erik presses his zipper against him harder before letting it down, barely locking his knees in time to resist sliding onto the floor in a puddle of relief.

“Take the rest of that off,” Erik says, voice low, “and get on the bed. Hands and knees.”

Charles obeys with alacrity, cock heavy and stiff, scrambling to place his knees shoulder-wide and arch his back, presenting Erik with what he _knows_ is a very nice view. He can hear Erik’s rumble of satisfaction, feel the intent before a finger runs down the length of his spine. It stops right at the dip below his tailbone and he rocks back a little, impatient and maybe a bit impertinent. That just has Erik take his hand away and place it between his shoulder blades and _push_. Charles collapses face first into the mattress.

“Arms back,” Erik says. Charles wonders a little wildly how much longer Erik is going to make him wait, knees red and sore, weight pressing the base of his throat into the sheets.

“I’m not going to ask you again.”

Charles puts his arms back.

“Good,” Erik praises again, and it sends a warm glow through Charles. He _likes_ making Erik happy, likes Erik approving and controlling and affectionate, likes it when he’s rough and claiming, loves any of the time they spend together. Erik is always busy, these days, and so is he. Sometimes he wishes that Erik would call or visit just to see him during the week, but his bed is always cold. He wonders if it’s the same for Erik.

When Erik moulds the metal of the headboard into rings and locks them together around his wrists and ankles, he moans, instinctively trying to move. The cuffs don’t dig into his skin; Erik rounds the edges so that the only damage he’ll incur is bruising from his own struggles. Charles bites his lip.

Erik’s hand is shockingly warm against the skin of his ass, curving around his hip and along his upper thigh. He can feel the closeness of the other man all along his back millimeters away from contact, an unbearable tease. Charles rocks back as much as he can.

A sharp crack of sound makes him jump, not even registering the sting and blooming ache until after the blow lands. Tingling heat radiates from the skin at the junction of his thigh and ass, a release after all the time where Erik didn’t touch, even while it makes his cock throb with the tease of it. How far is Erik going to go tonight, how much is he going to make Charles beg? He whimpers into the bedspread, widening the splay of his knees as far as he can.

“Don’t move,” Erik warns. “And don’t come. Can you do that, Charles?”

Charles actually has to think about that, mouth open and red and mind struggling against a fog of lust, and in the end he shakes his head no: he’s too close, Erik’s voice and Erik’s scent and the taste of Erik on his tongue, and if he were a better sub maybe, maybe he could control himself and not come until Erik tells him too but right now if Erik recreates that marvelous stinging sensation a couple more times he’s going to cry out and give in to his orgasm and he _wants_ to obey but he can’t--

“Sh, I’ve got you,” Erik murmurs, and something cold is curling around the base of his cock and Charles jerks but Erik is gripping his hip and he remembers his orders and stills, drawing hitching breaths in through his nose. It isn’t until the ring of metal tightens that Charles realizes what Erik is doing.

 _Please,_ he mouths, but Erik doesn’t see and he isn’t projecting anything clearly right now, already willing to beg, presenting himself for Erik’s pleasure.

Erik draws back, taking his body heat with him (no, no, come close again, please) and just _looks_ at Charles until he wants to scream. His shoulders ache and he feels empty and his knees hurt and he’s sure there’s a mark on the backs of his thighs and he wants _more_ \--

“Perfect,” Erik says, and brings his hand down.

Charles cries out, not at the pain but at the _relief_ of it, the waiting finally over. Erik strikes until his hand is red, the color even brighter on Charles’ pale skin, tight and hot and hurting now even when nothing touches him but air, the perfect sore ache. He’s babbling, begging for more and _it hurts_ and _please, please Erik!_

Erik bites him tenderly on the back of his neck and whispers, “Not yet.”

At the next smack Charles arches his back and feels the hotness behind his eyes expand, and then he’s sobbing into the bedspread, tears rolling down his cheek and across the bridge of his nose.

“I can’t,” he gulps. “I can’t, please, Erik just, just fuck me, pleasepleaseplease--”

The flick of a plastic cap is lost under the sound of his voice, but he cuts off abruptly, gasping when slick fingers trace a path up his legs, lube startlingly cold against the swollen hotness of his skin.

“So beautiful,” Erik murmurs, nipping sharply at the junction of ass and thigh. Charles stifles a whimper and rocks forwards. Even the brief flicker of Erik’s tongue feels cool.

“Nngh,” Charles manages as long fingers run teasingly between his cheeks, circling around his hole. They push in just a tiny bit and then retreat, forward and back, not enough to even really open him up, until he’s spreading his knees as far as they can go and pushing up off his shoulders and arching so hard that his back spasms and then, only then does Erik bite approvingly at his shoulder and slide two fingers in to the second knuckle.

“I just need you to do one more thing for me,” Erik is saying into his back, the damp dip of his lower spine. “Just one more thing, can you do that? Will you do that?”

Charles shakes his head frantically yes, then realizes Erik can’t see and verbalizes a sound that can vaguely be construed as positive. Erik isn’t moving his fingers, why isn’t Erik moving his fingers, Charles _wants_ Erik to _move his fingers...._

“Listen to me,” Erik breathes. “And _be circumspect_. Promise you’ll obey me and tone down your education reform.”

Charles nearly agrees just on reflex, mind a quivering pile of lust and need, but then--

“Not groovy,” he says.

Erik jerks backward. He slides his fingers out a little more slowly, but still fast enough to be a shock; the cuffs around Charles’ wrists and ankles melt away into hard puddles on the sheets.

“What--” he says, voice stricken. Oh. Charles has never used his safeword before. He can’t bring himself to be ashamed or sorry.

“Erik.” The moulded bits of metal slide along the mattress as Charles turns over, following the dent his body weight makes. He feels too big for his skin, heart pounding, erection still thick and ignored between his legs. He has to breathe deeply before continuing. “Erik. Tell me you didn’t just try to control my public life using your influence as a dom.”

Erik is standing now, right next to the bed, hands open at his sides. “Charles, I apologize--”

“No!” Charles cuts him off with a slashing motion of his hand. “Just because I give myself to you during sex doesn’t mean you _own_ me, this is the exact thing I’ve been working to prevent, you _know_ that--”

“Charles,” Erik tries again.

“Shut up.” Erik’s mouth snaps obediently closed. Charles blinks, and then feels a slow bubble of smugness rise in his chest. It’s a

 _(wrong)_

un-sub-like sentiment, but.

“Come here.” He kneels and shuffles sideways, making room on the bed. When Erik complies, that strange lightness in his stomach increases.

“I trust you,” Charles says, voice soft. _Trusted_ , he wants to say, but no, he still does have faith in Erik, in Erik’s feelings for him. “Will you trust me?”

After Erik’s slow nod, his lips curl in a small smile. It’s surprisingly vicious. “Good.”

He nods at the headboard. “Grip there.”

Erik stares at him, but when Charles just holds his gaze and waits, he lifts his arms slowly above his head to wrap his hands around the intricate wrought iron bed frame.

“What are you trying to prove?” Erik asks, grey eyes watchful. “I _am_ sorry that I... said. What I said.”

“Quiet,” Charles snarls, and bites Erik sharply on the thigh. The other man inhales sharply, tensing. His cock twitches. Charles smirks again; Erik always did like a bit of pain with his pleasure.

“What are you--” Erik says, and then Charles finds the lube and drenches his fingers and presses them _up_ , and his voice breaks off in surprise. He jerks, hands lifting off the headboard to curl into fists, arm muscles flexing

“Charles!”

The tone of his name makes Charles want to drop his hands, flat them flat on the bed and wait, make him want to flinch, but he steels himself and merely stills, fingertips still touching Erik’s skin. The other man hasn’t moved away -- can’t, perhaps, too proud to back down, incapable of doing so for a sub (for his sub) and Charles grits his teeth and forces himself to stay upright, in control.

“Erik.”

“What,” Erik says, staring at Charles’ hand on his thigh, “do you think you’re doing?”

Charles inhales. “You abused my trust,” he says softly, moving his fingers in little circles, slick and easy. “My research was never purely academic, you know, there’s a reason why I fight for sub rights -- for understanding of alternate lifestyles. I’m not the best sub anybody could ask for, not by a long shot.”

He laughs. It barely gets out of his throat before dying on the still air. He can see the way Erik’s brow furrows, the knowledge widening his eyes.

“You...”

“Switch tendencies,” Charles says before Erik can finish. He doesn’t want to hear how the other man’s mouth will curl around the words, harsh and incredulous and disgusted. “Usually I’m a sub, and I can blend well, but I never could really get all the way into subspace like the instructors said, so--”

 _”Charles,”_ Erik says. His hand comes up to grab Charles’ wrist. It’s tight enough to bruise if he holds on too long, and Erik’s fingers press painfully against the tendons of his wrist before pulling upwards. Now Charles is kneeling, legs spread for balance. Erik holding Charles captive. That grip is the only place they touch.

Charles flexes his wrist and Erik allows his fingers to loosen, trailing up the inside of his forearm, smirking a little.

“Does that mean that if I order you to lie on your back and spread yourself open for me,” and his eyes go heavy-lidded as Charles’ breathing deepens, “you won’t do it? Should I be worried?”

Charles shivers as Erik reaches the fleshy bit of the inner bend of his elbow, goosebumps rising all over as nails scrape lightly at the skin there.

No. He can’t give in now, he has to impress the importance of his convictions. He has to--

“No,” he says, leaning deliberately in, crowding. It’s a bit of learned behavior; Charles has never really had the mass or height to intimidate properly, but Erik is lying down right now so it’s worth a shot. “No, I won’t just spread for you, especially after what you just tried. In fact, I might just tie you to the headboard and punish you for violating my trust.”

Erik laughs, genuinely amused. “I’d like to see you try.”

Charles feels the frustration rising in his chest, the same feeling he always gets when education board dismisses him out of hand, lending him courage and making his ears ring. He moves forward suddenly, straddling Erik’s hips and using his body weight to pin don his shoulders, wresting Erik’s arms up before the other man really registers what’s going on. When Erik twists under him, he bites down hard on his shoulder.

“Augh--” Erik jerks and Charles feels a moment of triumph at the way his cock twitches before Erik _thrusts_ upward, throwing Charles and reversing their positions. A leg is wrapped around his own, knee digging painfully into his thigh.

“Not even close,” Erik says, but his pupils are blown and he’s staring at Charles’ mouth. Charles licks at his bottom lip, startled to taste the tang of iron. He bit down hard enough to draw blood.

As Charles flails a little, Erik smirks and bears down with his weight. “You fit so much better as a sub,” he purrs in his ear, breath hot and ticklish, almost too much sensation. “Just give in.”

The echo of his earlier thought breaks through the spell of Erik’s body on top of his, the warm comfort of having somebody else in charge. He jerks hard and Erik’s arm skids forward and his arm is free, and he thinks that it’s time to stop playing fair because obviously that isn’t working. So instead of trying to flip them again, he goes for Erik’s nipple.

Erik arches as Charles _twists_ , vicious, mouth open in something like surprise.

“My friend,” Charles says, voice hard. “I’ll never give in.”

He almost expects how Erik adapts, accepting the pain and leaning forward to capture his mouth in a bruising kiss. Charles opens for him, can’t resist, and Erik plunders his mouth, licking and sucking and biting on his lower lip until the tang of copper blooms hot on both their tongues. Charles rakes his nails down Erik’s chest, scoring four lines of red along his ribs, and grasps Erik’s cock in a grip that has to hurt. Erik yanks on Charles’ hair, exposing his throat and bring tears leaping to the corners of his eyes, and sucks a bruise just below the hinge of his jaw.

“I,” Charles says, “can fuck you just as well from down here.”

Erik tugs at the flesh between his teeth before pulling back to answer, hips still pushing back and forth in Charles’ grip.

“Like I said. I’d like to see you try.”

Charles glares. If the man wants it that way, fine. He knees Erik on the thigh and rolls them so that he’s putting pressure on Erik’s sternum.

“Good enough for you?” he says, and kisses him in apology. That blow had to actually hurt, but Charles needed the leverage. “Don’t worry, I won’t damage you any more. I really do love your legs, they go on and on...”

Erik digs both hands into Charles’ calf, fighting for air. Charles eases up; he doesn’t want Erik passing out.

“Let me,” he murmurs, and turns around so he’s straddling Erik’s shoulders. Then he swallows Erik’s cock down to the root.

Erik garbles out something incoherent and tries to curl forwards, shoulders pushing onto the insides of Charles’ thighs, but then he falls back and arches and Charles sucks and swallows and bobs his head until Erik forgets that Charles is on top, until he’s writhing and kneading Charles’ calves, panting. Charles can feel his own cock throb in sympathy, pinned against Erik’s chest and still encased with that damned ring, but he ignores it. He’ll get his turn.

When he pulls off with a wet pop, Erik growls something incomprehensible in German but he goes silent again when Charles fists his cock and moves downwards, the head sliding along the hollow of his throat, into the dip between his collarbones as he licks behind Erik’s balls, feeling crinkly hair and taking in the musky scent of him. He moans and Erik spreads his legs wider.

Erik tenses when he reaches the pucker of muscle, biting off a yelp of surprise. Erik is bitter and earthy on his tongue and Charles licks slowly, light and hard and light again, and then he points his tongue and works Erik open and god, god Erik is tight and he _wants_...

But Erik is still tense, muscles in his legs hard as rocks, and Charles pulls reluctantly away.

“I,” he says, mouth working, remember how to speak. “I’m not... If you don’t want me to, I -- I won’t. Erik?”

Erik is breathing hard, hands clawed in the sheets. Charles leans in. “Erik?”

Grey eyes focus on his own with an almost audible snap. A muscle ticks in his jaw.

He nods, slowly.

The permission is like a blow to the chest, like being set free. Charles lets out the breath he didn’t know he had been holding out in a whoosh, then casts his gaze for the lube.

“If you want to stop, just say the word. Ah, you’ll need a safeword -- what do you want?”

Erik shakes his head.

“It just has to be something easy to remember, preferably short,” Charles coaxes. He has the lube in hand now, thumb ready to flip the cap open. “Just pick.”

“Magnet,” Erik says, and looks surprised at himself for opening his mouth, at the hoarseness of his voice.

“Magnet,” Charles agrees. Then he has to lean down to kiss Erik, lick up his jaw, slide a hand down his side. “If I ever make you uncomfortable, if it’s too much, say that word and it’s over. You know how it works, this is just... from the other side.”

Erik’s hand comes up to tangle in Charles’ hair again, but this time he doesn’t pull or try to direct the other man’s movements; it’s just there. He turns his head to capture Charles’ lips again.

“Trust,” he says, and Charles nods.

“Exactly. Bind your arms above your head for me, would you? And no using your powers after that, not until I say so.”

Erik hesitates and Charles fears for a moment he won’t move. Charles bites down over the same mark he did before on Erik’s shoulder.

“Do it.”

Erik lets out a harsh breath, almost a moan, and shifts, but Charles has him pinned and in the end he raises his arms, winding metal around his wrists up to the elbows. _God._ Charles had thought about this, of course, Erik using his own power to curve patterns over his skin, but actually seeing the dull gleam of silver encasing him, stirring the fine hairs on his arms, is like a punch to the solar plexus. He can barely breathe.

“Good,” he whispers, and licks gently at the blood beading up on Erik’s shoulder. Erik shudders a little, muscles tensing against his restraints, before relaxing. When Charles looks up the other man’s eyes are closed, his brows furrowed.

Erik is biting his lower lip.

Fuck. He has to lean up to lick, suck that lip into his own mouth and fit his teeth into the indent Erik put there with his own, grope blindly for the lube he dropped earlier and coat his fingers with slick.

“I’m going,” he says, rubbing up against Erik’s thigh, pushing an image of his fingers, of Erik’s face as he enter him. “I--okay?”

“If you say you can be as good as a dom,” Erik grits out, eyes opening to pupils blown wide, “then act like it.”

If Erik wants it that way, fine. Charles slides in two fingers, pushing past the instinctive clenching of Erik’s muscles, not stopping when Erik’s back arches and he lets out a grunt that could be pain. He pushes until his fingers are all the way in and scissors experimentally, exploring until--

Yes. Yes, that, and Charles’ spine bends in sympathy as Erik jerks, electrified.

And then, because he is a terrible person (he acknowledges this flaw in himself, he admits it) he withdraws his fingers. Erik clenches around him as he goes.

“What,” Erik says. He sounds winded. “ _Charles_. Do that again.”

“Who is in charge here?” Charles traces his fingers around Erik’s hole, slippery and wet and sure to be making a mess of the sheets.

He can practically hear Erik grinding his teeth.

“ _Charles_ ,” Erik says again, commanding, but Charles is deep enough into the high playing dom gives him that there’s barely a mental twitch in reaction.

“Ah-ah,” Charles chides, and slaps lightly at Erik’s inner thigh. Erik doesn’t react except to glare harder and Charles swallows down a low surge of disappointment and anxiety. Right.

Licks ands bites and sucking kisses still get the same reaction that they always have, Erik arching approvingly under his touch, but there are no hands rough and large clenched in his hair and when he remembers that’s because he told Erik to restrain himself and _Erik did so_...

Well. He maybe bites down harder than he would have normally on the flesh of Erik’s hip. Erik arches, exhaling a low groan.

“Tell me where you want me,” Charles murmurs, rubbing his cheek against Erik’s stomach, almost along his cock. He prods a little at Erik’s entrance, a tease. “Show me.”

The muscles under Erik’s skin jump and ripple, but eventually Erik parts his legs. His mouth stays stubbornly shut.

This is probably the best Charles is going to get. He works his fingers in, works Erik open until the man’s legs are trembling and he’s making soft noises at every movement of Charles’ fingers, until both of them are mad with need and then Charles teases them both some _more_. He leans up to bite sharply at Erik’s nipples, to close his teeth around one and tug, pulling until it slips free. When they are red and swollen, Charles moves on to Erik’s cock, licking teasingly up the side and sucking at the tip, carefully fitting his teeth along the circumcision scar and scraping, and Erik is thrusting, short jerky movements of his hips. Charles can’t help but open his mouth wider and close his eyes and savor the thickness of his in his mouth, the hot bitterness of him.

 _I could do this for hours,_ he thinks, half-delirious and drunk with pleasure. _Tease you, get you so worked up you’d beg but not let you off, you’re beautiful like this, Erik, if I had you I’d never let you leave keep you forever always minemine_ mine---

And Erik accepts, takes Charles into himself and bounces the sentiments back and that’s it, Charles needs Erik _now_ , he pulls off and lubes himself up with shaking fingers and then grips Erik’s thighs, slippery, lining himself up. The fact that he still has a cock ring on is the only reason he hasn’t come.

When the head catches at Erik’s hole Charles has to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek, pull back a little, and when Erik presses back and follows he has to do it again, and again, until Erik is whining softly and clenching around nothing and Charles would never have thought to see him like this, would never expect _anyone_ to see him like this, undone.

“Ask,” Charles rasps, as though he’s in control, not as desperate as Erik looks. “Erik. Ask me.”

Erik hisses, makes a bitten off sound. God, he can’t take this.

 _”Please,”_ Charles begs, agonized.

After an eternity where Erik’s mouth works silently, he opens his eyes. The pupils nearly eclipse the irises.

“Go.”

Charles sobs and obeys, back arching, hips pushing in. He barely gets to three strokes before he has to freeze, shaking, dredging up every bit of willpower he has to _stop himself from coming_. Erik grins, bares his teeth, twists his wrists in his restraints and clamps down. Charles can feel -- something, something different, and when metal brushes against his knee he realizes Erik melted the ring off him. He jerks, a wail rising high in his throat.

 _”Fuck me,”_ Erik grits out, and Charles is lost. He thrusts erratically once, twice, five times and his orgasm hits him like a knee in the solar plexus, stealing his breath and leaving him shaking and weak in the aftermath. He barely has the mind to wrap his fist around Erik’s cock and strip him hard and fast, tight enough to be painful, and feel the wet warmth of semen before he’s blinded by his own pleasure.

When he comes back to himself, Erik has a hand in his hair. His throat feels raw when he swallows; he probably screamed there, at the end.

“Feel better?” Erik’s voice is rough too, Charles notices with a certain degree of smug satisfaction. Good.

He moves his head just enough to construe a nod.

 _Don’t think our conversation is over_ , he projects, more than a little fuzzily. Endorphins have him relaxed, floaty, but he can tell he’s on the edge of crashing.

“We’ll pick it up later,” Erik rumbles, fingers massaging Charles’ scalp. Charles loses what little tension he managed to gain.

 _Later_ , he confirms. _Later_.

 

 

‘Later’ turns out to be the next morning. Charles wakes up bonelessly content, at least until he moves, and then _everything itches_.

“Oh my god,” he groans into the pillow, hands clenched tight in the sheets. A minute later something wet slaps across his back, and he twitches violently.

“Your welcome,” Erik calls, already out the door. Appealing coffee smells waft in from the hallway.

Charles stays flat on the bed until he can’t bear it anymore, then takes the washcloth and swipes it quickly over the itchiest spots. It isn’t enough -- to feel really clean again he’s going to have to take a shower.

Erik has breakfast ready by the time Charles steps out, clad in a set of Erik’s boxers and shirt. His own clothes are, yes, thrown over the back of the couch and hopelessly rumpled. An accusing stare just has Erik grin, shrug, and offer up a plate of eggs.

Suddenly Charles is ravenous. He all but snatches the plate and has a forkful of eggs in his mouth before he remembers his manner and garbles out a “thank you,” and Erik laughs at him with his eyes and pours a glass of orange juice.

“You are a god,” Charles tells him fervently.

“Why thank you,” Erik purrs. Charles swallows and tells his body sternly that it had mind-blowing sex last night and it was much to soon to be making noises about more, please and thank you. He resolutely doesn’t think about what prompted the amazing sex, and how they’re going to have to have a _talk_.

A splash of color catches his eye.

“Those flowers,” he begins, only to be cut off.

“Do you like them?” Erik asks.

“They’re very colorful,” Charles says diplomatically. In actuality they are a bit of an eyesore, a riot of red and yellow and pink and violet and white, all mixed together and stuck in a vase of old porcelain that obviously doesn’t belong in Erik’s sleek modern apartment. “Who gave them to you?”

“I bought them,” Erik says, looking up from his plate. “Raven told me camellias were your favorite flower. And she gave me the vase as well, you don’t recognize it?”

“Ah,” Charles prevericates. “Erm.” The mansion is very large, and has many vases in it. “Of course... not, actually, no I don’t.”

Erik looks at him, narrow-eyed. “I see.”

Charles changes the subject hurriedly. “So about that talk...”

Oh no. That’s even worse.

Erik sighs and sets down his coffee mug. “I already apologized.”

“It’s the fact that you even had to in the first place that bothers me, actually.” Charles crosses his arms. “You come from a privileged position, Erik. Society view doms as more powerful -- more _validated_ \-- than subs, and you’ve never known anything different. But that doesn’t give you the right--”

“The right?” Erik cuts in. “You hold the power to stop me at any time, and I _listen_. I stopped. And speaking of privilege, you’re one to talk, with your inheritance--”

“A completely different situation,” Charles refutes. “External factors such as wealth have no effect on interpersonal dom/sub relationships. If you need an example, I can quote you plenty of case studies and articles.”

Erik breathes out loudly. “Then what do you want, Charles?”

“I want you to understand,” Charles says softly, even though he wants to shout. “To really think about it, to realize just what power you have over nearly half the population, just by being who and what you are. I want you to be the better man, Erik.”

There is silence for a long moment.

“All I can promise is to try,” Erik says finally. “You may have to -- remind me.”

Charles is hit by a wave of giddy relief. It isn’t over yet, not nearly, but Erik hasn’t thrown him out, has bent enough to accommodate him.

“That, I can do.”

**Author's Note:**

> So this story is (once again) all mai's fault, except it's really not. I've always wanted to explore the d/s dynamic and how power was distributed between those in the relationship (it always bothered me when subs would just submit meekly to anything doms told them to do in fics, although of course there are some where it's AMAZINGLY well done). That being said, most of this is porn, with bookends of pretentious pholosophical stuff in the beginning and end. I sincerely apologize if I've offended anyone.
> 
> Also, there was a truly disproportionate amount of research into flower language for the (like, three lines) of mention it gets in the fic. Camellias represent love and devotion, from chaste to darkly possessive depending on color.


End file.
